Writing
Cries of the Mother
Did you hear the cries in the dark?
Soul shattering, awash with anguished loss
I heard it near the edge of the woods
at first I thought an animal must have
fallen victim
to a hunter's trap
But it was a woman's cry I heard
The urgency of her screams startled
my bare feet to a run
oblivious to the briers and stinging nettles
I ran to her, full moon lighting my way
A twisted ivy snaked to life, leading me
deeper into her agony
Slick black feathers fanned me to a halt
wet eyes stared pitifully at me
the raven took flight, darting expertly
through tangled boughs
It stopped, looked back, beckoning
in fear I followed
getting closer to her pain
blood and sweat licked my lips as I came to a clearing
the shrieks of grief
driving needles into my mortal brain
In the clearing a frail form of a woman
in a black robe
grasped hand fulls of damp earth
from a fresh mound
a grave
not of one
but of many
compassion and curiosity forced me
into the open, standing mute before
her fierce fury of suffering
her eyes were gray like a thunderhead
before it bursts open
Her hair was white, billowing
wild clouds in a gale
her face more granite than flesh
my eyes strayed to the grave
my mouth forming "who?"
A voice hollow yet warm, more inside my head
than out
answered
"my children"
Was this Baba Yaga?
Had she devoured her own?
"How?"
She arose like a wave on the ocean,
rising tides in front of me
drowning me
as her robe began to slip from her tired shoulders
coiling in shadows at her feet
I shivered as terror seized upon my heart
threatening to squeeze out my last breath
I choked back bile rising in my throat
as my eyes opened to the horror of her body
Her breasts both victim to the ragged blade
of some mad butcher's idea of a mastectomy
Her ravaged flesh gaping, oozing black thick
viscous fluid
that coalesced into sickly rivulets on her torso,
steaming down
to the delta of her pubis
where it joined a flood of red heat
angry rivers of lava
seeping from her
sunken womb
as if bombs had exploded within the cavern of her
rocky soul
Rancorous red welts and scars
zagged across her parchment skin
her pain entered me
"your children did this to you?"
"But in killing me they've killed themselves"
I began to cry
"Do not cry for me, cry for them. I will live, I will even bear more children one day. But these will be lost forever, my beautiful children of sky and earth"
Her voice became and echo, trailing off into a mist of sensation
Her cloudy hair changed to Spanish moss
her arms stretched upward to the heavens
praying for the lost souls of her children
her eyes became dew on the leaves
her legs and all the foul fluids seeped into the soil
A raven held within her embracing branches
a living oak, moaning in the wind
The raven dived from its perch
landing on a pile of stones by the grave
I picked up a stone
I read the markings on it
a name
I reeled backwards into darkness
as I realized
the grave is mine
the grave is yours
I woke in sweat soaked sheets
I walked to my bedroom window and looked out at the nearby woods
it was already dusk
and I could hear her cry
Solstice Poems
The Womb
In the longest night we gather our courage
Each heart beat awash in memory
like waves depositing ancient bones from the depths
trapped in the cogs of the galactic timekeeper
haunted by the ghosts of lost souls and promises
swimming in the womb of wonder at what might come
The decomposition of the maiden’s bridal gown
now nurtures hard shelled shivering seeds beneath the snow
Her court of evergreens bend genuflect in icy winds
groaning in anguished anticipation
we fill the silence of our naked vulnerability
with songs of hope, bathing in each others warmth
Her chill breath awakens our nascent fears
of a never ending darkness, emptiness, and death
her cold wet kisses wash our strained features
We wait in childlike wonder and horror
for the birth cries of a new sun
praying it shine so warm and bright
as to melt the hardened hearts and fears of mortals
Sadness
A familiar friend sits at my table
drinking in tears like morning's first coffee
long dark braids holding the knotted memories of life
black eyes hold me
breathe
then let me go
Portland Spring
Rub sleepy eyes
Squinting at a river of light
Sun sweet sun reveals
Awake
We are awake
Thunder mumbles over West hills
Lightning teases and tickles
Fuzzy green youth shivers
Cold damp air closes
Rain
Hit the snooze
Wait
Another
Day
Hour
Minute
For change
Killing from a Distance
Only that dot blinking
A heart beat
A soul
A glassy eye can not see the tears
Cannot see the young of years
Sit safe in a bunker
while she cries
While he dies
And another dot on your screen goes out
Another dream ends
a nightmare begins
You play unseeing God with joystick in hand
As you spray the blood and brains of one "could-be" terrorist
You seed the ground to sprout a hundred more
You think you're safe
And for now you are
But we are all less safe for what you do
And who you give you dogged obedience to.
Pavlov is dead
Bite the hand
Put down the game of death
And come home.
War is over.
Green Tara Mantra
I have this beautiful Tibetan mantra on my arm. Many have asked what does it mean in English. As with most mantras there is the simple, literary translation but there is also the deeper spiritual aspect. About four years ago I read a book titled, The Mantram Handbook by Eknath Easwaran. He describes how we can use mantras to keep our mind from dashing off into reckless thought, thoughts that can then quickly manifest into reckless action or speech. From my Study of Gandhi I knew that he had a mantram that he used all through life, that was even on his lips as he died, 'Om and Victory to Rama (the self within), victory, victory to Rama.'
While reading the book I began a search for a mantram that could be mine until my last breath. Six years earlier I had just started to learn about Tibetan Buddhism and when I read about the Green and White Taras I began to incorporate them into my meditations as well as visualizations as I dozed off to sleep. Tara literally means "star" or "she who ferries across". I have felt her guiding presence on my spiritual journey.
There are many stories regarding Tara in both Hindu and Buddhist texts. One that I like tells of a time when the Buddha of compassion, Avalokitesvara, had expended tremendous energy, liberating all humans from the hell realms of their suffering, and then he slept. After his nap he saw that through their ignorance, humans had once again populated the hell realms. He cried a tear for their plight. From that tear came the Bodhisattva Tara who would help him deliver humans from suffering. This is one of many stories on the origin of Tara. Another is that she was a princess that achieved enlightenment but out of compassion continues to reincarnate in the physical world to help guide us from suffering, always manifesting in female form.
The Green Tara Mantra in English is, "Om Tare Tuttare Ture Soha". Om is a sound representing all of the Universe. The three forms of Tara's name represent three levels of salvation. Tare represents deliverance from the material threats of this world. Tuttare is spiritual liberation. In this form she offers us protection from the spiritual dangers of greed, hatred and ignorance. The final version of Tara's name, Ture, is the ultimate realization that our own salvation depends on our compassion for others. In other words spiritual progress is not about only liberating ourselves from suffering but that we must also strive to liberate others. This is the Bodhisattva Path. The final syllables, Soha, mean "Hail to", or "May a blessing rest on".
Whenever I feel fear, anger or just the hint of unsettled emotion bubbling up, this mantra begins to repeat in my mind. I've been able to overcome many fears that before had stopped me cold in my tracks, like riding my bike across a bridge, or walking along the edge of a high drop off, or speaking on controversial topics to those hostile to the message and on and on. I find it reconnects me to myself; anchoring me to that calm spacious place beyond the mundane. Without that anchor I hold too tightly to my own views and opinions, making me deaf to those of others. For me Tara is the guiding star, leading me deeper into my understanding of nonviolence and ever closer to truth.
This tattoo is both my devotional to Tara and a reminder of the Path for me.
